


Surface Tension

by kethni



Series: BST [3]
Category: Veep
Genre: Antagonism, Cheating, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Series, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 13:58:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7389949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kethni/pseuds/kethni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I started this series before we met Ben's wife so references to her and their relationship don't match canon. </p>
<p>Also, this is a prequel to 'Reaction Formation' and 'The Other Thing' that covers part of the Hughes' presidential campaign.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Surface Tension

**Author's Note:**

> I started this series before we met Ben's wife so references to her and their relationship don't match canon. 
> 
> Also, this is a prequel to 'Reaction Formation' and 'The Other Thing' that covers part of the Hughes' presidential campaign.

Day One

Strategists, consultants, and advisors, Ben shat out more useful information in a morning than they came up with in a year. POTUS went through them like Kleenex, but Ben did have a glimmer of a hope in the latest prospect. He’d made a little bit of a splash using some kind of statistical analysis to crack codes on lottery tickets. He and several students had humiliated a lottery company whose treatment of their employees they disagreed with. Then they published the analysis as a paper telling anyone who cared to read how to do the same thing. The lottery company had all but bankrupted themselves trying to stop it happening again. Ben pretty much had to take off his shoes and socks to count to twenty, but he could see a use for math it let you beat the lottery.

Even so, Ben didn’t care much for this playing hard to get bullshit. What the fuck was the world coming to when the chief of staff for a presidential candidate had to go halfway across the country to ask some Poindexter if he’d come work for the candidate, pretty please with sugar on top? It was fucking humiliating.

Not that being out of Washington for a few days was the worst thing in the world. He and Elizabeth were barely speaking. They hadn’t had fight or anything. They just didn’t have anything to say. Ben used to be a romantic. Ha. He used to think he’d meet some woman who just _got_ him and they’d always be able to work through just about anything together. Now he knew the best he could hope for was someone he could get on with _right now_. Ben could make a grand gesture, sure, sweep a woman off her feet if he put the effort in. But he couldn’t keep it up. He couldn’t pretend to care about whatever bullshit course Elizabeth was doing or what her nutty friends were up to. He definitely couldn’t care what her asshole brother was doing. God, he hated that guy. It showed. He knew it did. He wasn’t interested in Elizabeth and she wasn’t interested in him. Her eyes glazed over when they talked.

But they had kids and it was easier to put up with it then strike out afresh. They’d both been married before and knew what a shitstorm divorce could be. She hadn’t any kids from before but she had a pretty good idea what a nightmare custody battles could be. Better to let their kids age out before worrying about a divorce. It’s not like he had anyone waiting for him to become footloose and fancy free.

***

The professor wasn’t expecting him. Ben had flown all this damn way and _now_ Hughes admitted that the professor wasn’t even expecting him. Ben was going to have some damn words when he got back. What if the Poindexter wasn’t at the college? What if he was on a freaking sabbatical? Or, here was a crazy thought, what if he was less than thrilled at a complete stranger pitching up and trying to recruit him.

Ben dropped his luggage at the hotel and hauled ass to the campus. A short conversation with an annoyed administrator sent him to a small classroom where the professor was supposedly providing private tuition to a student. Christ. It sounded like the start of a cheap-ass porno.

When Ben pushed open the classroom door, the first thing he noticed was the great hulking bruiser in a chair, bent over a book. The second thing he noticed was the surprisingly smartly attired late middle-aged man sat on a desk and watching him narrowly. Around Ben’s age but slim with thick grey hair and a neat moustache, he was kinda… striking.

‘Are you lost?’ he demanded.

‘No, I’m pretty sure I’m right here,’ Ben said. ‘Everywhere else might be misplaced but that’s everywhere else’s problem.’

Mr Tall, Grey, and Handsome was unamused. ‘I’m in the middle of a tutorial. What do you want?’

‘My name’s Ben Cafferty, I’m Senator Hughes’ Chief of Staff. You Davison?’

The hulking boy began gathering his things.

‘We’re not done,’ Davison said to him.

‘Another ten minutes won’t make much difference,’ the boy said. He smiled sheepishly. ‘Another year might not make much.’

Davison waved him away.

‘Lemme guess,’ Ben said as the student rumbled out of the room. ‘Football scholarship?’

Davison was packing up books into a laptop bag. ‘I don’t know who you are or what you want. Frankly I don’t much care.’

‘Hey, pal, I only just found out that you didn’t ask me to come out here. I’m tired, I’m fed up, and I’m a long way from home. At least let me buy you some drinks.’

Davison hesitated. ‘Don’t you mean _a_ drink?’

‘One, two, twelve, whatever. It’s on expenses. Come on.’

***

‘You’re not what I was expecting,’ Ben admitted. They were in a very nice whiskey bar. The sorta place that had leather chairs by crackling open fires. He could really come to appreciate a place like this.

‘I wasn’t expecting you at all,’ Davison said.

Ben sat back in his chair and stretched. ‘I was expecting someone tweedier, you know?’

Davison snorted. ‘Your children must be young.’

‘How d’you figure?’

‘Because you expect professors to wear tweed,’ Davison cradled his glass. ‘Most of the ones I know are more likely to smoke joints than pipes. Many of them teach in jeans and old t-shirts.’

‘Well thank fuck you’re not one of those,’ Ben said with a shudder.

Davison put his glass down a moment before Ben heard his cell begin to ring. Davison stepped away to answer it. Ben found himself watching: Davison was easy on the eyes. He was an odd fish for sure. Not warm but also kinda shuttered. Keeping everyone at arm’s length. That wasn’t something Ben had much truck with. He was an all for one kinda guy. Maybe Davison had good reason. He wasn’t wearing a ring. Divorced maybe. Shit, why hadn’t Ben looked that up? A wife could be important. A deciding factor maybe.

Davison turned, leaving Ben staring at his ass and long legs. The man was all long limbs.

Ben straightened up as Davison returned to the table.

‘Trouble from on high?’ Ben asked.

‘A student complaining about her grade.’

Ben smiled and rolled the ice cubes around in his glass. ‘In my day, girls were more proactive than that. I knew a few unscrupulous professors who got more action than Hugh Hefner.’

Davison snorted. ‘It’s not merely the female students who are proactive in such a manner.’

Ben shifted in his seat. ‘Oh yeah?’

‘Poor students seeking a shortcut to academic success are not limited by gender or sexual preference.’

‘It’s a brave new world.’

Davison drained his glass. ‘Huxley had his prescient moments.’

‘Well, I can’t promise any nymphets offering earthly delights if you come work with us,’ Ben said. ‘Or whatever the male student version of a nymphet is.’

‘Possibly a dryad,’ Davison said. ‘Your sales pitch is not enthralling so far.’

Ben poured them both a large measure. ‘I read that paper you wrote on the lottery thing. They weren’t onto you, you coulda carried on. You coulda bilked them for millions. But you didn’t, because it’s not about the money for you. You solved one of those Math Institute’s big problems a few years back. Made enough cash to quit teaching and travel the world. But you didn’t.’

Davison shrugged. ‘What’s your point?’

‘You’re wasting your talent as a glorified babysitter, you wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t an Ivy League school.  You’re all about the prestige. You make all the money you need from your expensive as shit and exclusive as fuck on-the-side consultancy.’ Ben shrugged. ‘Come consult for Hughes. A White House job will look classy as shit on your resume.’

***

How had he ended up so much drunker than Davison? Ben could hold his fucking booze, damn it. Davison looked like a damn cheese straw.

Ben couldn’t remember which hotel he was at. He ended up going back with Davison to his house. If Davison had been a woman… but he wasn’t.

Ben tumbled out of the cab and followed Davison up the garden path. Heh heh. “Up the garden path.”

‘Do y’live alone?’ Ben asked.

Davison gave him just about the weirdest fucking look ever. ‘What?’

‘Do I gotta keep my voice down for fear or your other half screaming blue murder?’

Davison shook his head. ‘If you did, it would already be far too late.’

***

Boats and motorcycles. There were pictures of boats and motorcycles _everywhere_. As Ben wobbled in front of the toilet, he wondered why Davison didn’t seem to have any photos or pictures of actual human beings. Anyone. Not even a sorta dirty arty picture. He didn’t even have any photos of himself.

Jesus! Ben spun around as the bathroom door swung open. ‘Hey, don’t fucking…!’

A cat. He was yelling at a cat. Ben groaned heavily and tried to shoo her away. She growled at him softly and stalked away.

Great. He’d sprayed piss on the side of Davison’s tub. Which had a rubber duck on the side. Ben finished, cleaned up, cleaned his mess up, fell over, got up, washed his hands, and looked at the rubber duck. Ben’s eldest daughter had one that vibrated. He wished he’d never found that out. This one didn’t. Just a toy duck. Just a toy duck that a grown man had in his bath tub. Huh.

Ben staggered out of the bathroom and towards the guestroom that Davison had rather unwillingly offered him.

The door to Davison’s room was slightly ajar. Ben took a quick peak. Just a real quick tiny look. Nothing weird. Nothing dubious. Davison was reflected in a mirror. Well, part of him was. A rectangular snapshot of chest and stomach.

If you could call it a stomach. What man got to their age and had a flat gut? Ben’s gut rose and fell majestically. Ben shook his head and stumbled on.

‘Are you alright?’

Ben has to brace himself against the bannister before he turned around. Davison was in a pair of pyjama pants. Nothing else. They were hanging low on his hips. He was even slimmer than Ben had thought. Not skinny. Definite muscle tone. Who the fuck their age had that?

‘Uh, just…’ He waved a hand at the door, and almost overbalanced.

Davison caught his arm and steadied him. ‘Perhaps refrain from any sudden movements.’

Ben blinked. Davison’s face was inches away.

‘Always did prefer slow dancing,’ Ben said.

Davison took a step back. ‘I don’t dance with married men.’

‘Christ, where’s your sense of humour?’ Ben grumbled, stumbling towards the guest room.

Davison snorted. ‘Forgive me for not finding that amusing.’

Freaking asshole. Ben didn’t have a problem with “alternative sexualities” and it didn’t make him some kinda homophobe to make a joke about slow dancing. He’d marched in his time. Done his bit.

Ben collapsed onto the bed, one leg dangling over the edge. This whole trip had been a fucking waste of time. He was going to rip Hughes apart with his bare fucking hands.

Ben opened his eyes. _Not with married men_. Did Davison say he didn’t dance with married men? _He_ hadn’t been fucking joking.

***

Ben had tried to be friends. He was a friendly guy. Christ knew that Davison wasn’t. He acted as if Ben’s friendly overtures were some kind of trick or trap.

Ben didn’t think of himself as unfaithful. He wasn’t a serial philanderer. It wasn’t part of his identity. Ben didn’t consider himself unfaithful, in the same way that people who didn’t speak up when the cashier missed an item of their shopping or who watched pirated movies didn’t consider themselves thieves.

Ben considered himself straight as a sort of… default. Gay was an identity. Bisexual was an identity. Neither of them spoke to Ben. As he stared at Davison making breakfast, watched the way the jeans clung to his ass, it never occurred that he was doing _anything_.

Later that night, when he jacked off to the fantasy of a long-legged man bent over a chair, it didn’t occur to him that he hadn’t slept with his wife in months.

 

Day Twenty-Seven

They were thirty-seven miles out of nowhere when the campaign bus broke down. The nearest hotel had twelve rooms in total and only four of them vacant. Hughes got one, the secret service guys got another. The third went to Selina Meyer and her chief of staff-cum-toddler.

‘Looks like it’s us boys together,’ Ben said to Kent.

They were stood in the hotel lobby, surrounded by their luggage.

Kent’s shoulders twitched. ‘I’ll sleep on the bus.’

‘What, you’re too good to share a room? You’re an only child aren’t you? I knew it as soon as I saw you.’

‘No.’  

It was insulting how unhappy Kent to share a room. Ben had never had any complaints that he snored. None that he listened to, anyway.

Pretty much everyone went to bed early. It had been a long day even before the bus broke down. Ben bought two double whiskies and sat down opposite Kent, who was still nursing his first drink.

‘Hustle or you’ll never catch up,’ Ben said.

Kent eyed him. Made it real clear he didn’t like what he saw. ‘What’re you doing?’ he asked.

‘Trying to have a friendly drink with a co-worker. What the fuck are you doing?’

Kent tilted his head. ‘I’m attempting to avoid an uncomfortable and unwelcome approach from a drunken co-worker.’

‘Nah, she went to bed ages ago.’

‘Who’re you talking about?’

Ben cradled his drink. ‘Selina. I don’t think her pod person chief of staff breeds outside her species.’

Kent didn’t laugh. ‘I wasn’t referring to the senator.’

‘Can’t deny the intense sexual tension between you two.’

‘You’re confusing antagonism with sexual tension,’ Kent said flatly.

Ben took a gulp of his drink. ‘You say that like they can’t be the same thing.’

‘Only if one is too immature to cope with sexual attraction in any other manner.’

Ben chuckled. ‘Well I guess you got plenty of experience there.’

Kent frowned and looked at his phone.

Shitty fucking… shit. Ben gripped his glass. ‘So, uh, you got a girl and a guy?’

‘What?’ Kent demanded, his face pinched in irritation and confusion.

‘You’re dating a chick and a dick,’ Ben said, feeling pretty good about that little dig.

‘No.’ He twisted around in his seat to scan the bar.

Ben took a gulp of whiskey. ‘Furlong said you, uh, you like to vote in both the houses.’

Now he had Kent’s intense attention. Shame he looked so fucking pissed about it.

‘That doesn’t make me non-monogamous,’ he said.

‘Hmm?’ Ben caught the eye of the bartender and signalled for another round.

Kent let out an angry breath. ‘I resent the suggestion that I sleep around. When I date I am as faithful as anyone else.’  

Ben lowered his voice and moved a bit closer. ‘So, you’re gay then?’

‘No.’

‘Oh.’ Ben sat back as the bartender put the drinks on the table. ‘I didn’t figure you for straight.’

Kent drained his Scotch in one and stood up. ‘I’m not.’

‘Hey don’t run off. I’ve got more questions.’

‘I’m not here for your education,’ Kent had said.

Ben sprawled back in his chair. ‘Don’t forget we’re sharing a room.’   

‘I couldn’t if I wanted to.’   

Ben was tired himself, but no way was he going up early when Kent was in such a pissy mood.

What the fuck was his problem? It’s not like anyone else was going out of their way to be friendly. Hell, Selina Meyer hated the guy. Not that she was anyone’s model of rational thinking. She was a toddler in a grown-up suit and Kent was the adult who kept telling her ‘no.’

Ben glanced at his watch. If he went up too late Kent might be asleep already. Not that Ben should care, Kent repeatedly crapped all over his attempts to be friendly. But he didn’t wanna wake the guy up. That’d be rude…

Ben finished off all the drinks, both his and Kent’s untouched ones. He swayed when he stood up. Low blood sugar. That was all. Nothing to worry about.

The light was out in their room. Ben swore under his breath. He dropped his clothes on the floor and got into bed. The sheets were cool enough to make him shiver. He slid his hand along the mattress.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Edge of the mattress.

‘Where the fuck are you?’

‘Will you go to sleep?’

‘Are you on the _floor_?’ He sat up and heaved himself to the foot of the bed. ‘What the fuck are you doing down there, you clown?’

 ‘Attempting to sleep.’

‘There’s been a scientific breakthrough. They’re called “beds.” Why don’t you get up into this one?’

Kent groaned audibly. ‘Because I am disinclined to sleep in a bed in which you are resident.’

Ben turned on the lamp and Kent winced at the sudden light.

‘Why’re _you_ getting paranoid about being touched up? I’m the straight one!’

‘Don’t flatter yourself.’

Kent’s hair was ruffled. It made him look younger. Weirdly casual and vulnerable.

‘How old’re you?’ Ben asked.

‘What?’

He was bare chested. The soft light picked up the hint of muscles. Ben swallowed.

‘Just get in the bed, you fucking drama queen. I promise not to ravage you.’

‘Ravish,’ Kent said, standing up. ‘Ravage means destroy or devastate. Ravish means to seize, carry off, and rape.’

‘Yeah? Well I won’t do that either.’ Ben moved back as Kent gathered up his pillow and blankets. He was trying not to stare; the cotton pyjama pants were barely clinging to the blades of Kent’s hips.

Kent had a scattering of chest hair, blondish-brown rather than grey, a little less on his forearms, and nothing on his back. Nada. Zip. His skin was smooth. Ben bet it was warm. Just waiting for a stroking hand…

‘Pick a side.’

Ben blinked. ‘Huh?’

‘You’re right in the middle of the bed. Pick a side.’

Ben moved aside and watched Kent fussing before he got under the covers.

‘You want me to leave the light on?’ Ben asked.

Kent squinted at him. ‘Why would I want that?’

‘I don’t fucking know. Maybe you’re afraid of the dark.’

‘I was _in_ the dark before you came blundering in with all the grace of a drunken bull elephant.’

Ben rolled his eyes. ‘It’s a thing. People can be nervous of the dark.’

Kent rolled onto his side away from Ben. ‘The only thing in this room making me nervous is you.’

‘Ha fucking ha.’

‘I wasn’t joking.’

Ben settled back against the pillows. He could feel the slight dip that Kent made in the mattress and smell the slight musk of Kent’s body wash.

‘What’s your problem with me?’ Ben asked.

‘Leave me alone and we won’t have a problem.’

‘I just wanna be friendly.’

Kent punched his pillow. ‘You are abusing the word “friendly.” You are married, and we work together.’

Ben reached out until his fingertips touched the other man’s back. He felt Kent stiffen and his back clench. But he didn’t feel Kent pull away.

‘Why the fuck are you single? You’ve got twice as many options!’

‘Twice as many rejections,’ Kent said. ‘Men who tell me I’m gay and in denial. Women who assume I’ll cheat on them with a man.’

Ben laid his palm flat on Kent’s back. Kent shivered but said nothing.

‘How does it work, you like girly men and macho women?’

‘Neither.’

‘You gotta have a type.’

‘Types,’ Kent said. ‘I’m attracted to different things in men and women.’

Ben rubbed his thumb over Kent’s back. He wondered what Kent would do if he pressed his lips to the delicate skin between his shoulder and neck.

‘What does it for you?’ Ben asked.

Kent shrugged, a sharp jerk of his shoulders.

‘I find femininity attractive in women: long legs, large eyes, full lips.’

‘Not a breast man?’

‘No.’

Ben stroked his thumb across Kent’s scapula: another shiver. ‘What about men? You like them young and pretty?’

Kent snorted a breath. ‘No.’

Ben moved a little closer. ‘What then?’

‘Bears, mostly. Dark. The darker the better.’   

‘Bears?’

Kent’s voice changed: he’d turned his head towards Ben. ‘You don’t even know what bears are?’

‘I guess not huge, furry animals that’ll gut you as soon as look at you.’

‘No.’

‘Well?’

Kent sighed. ‘Men who are tall, broad, generally hirsute, and often somewhat husky.’

Ben thought about it. ‘Big, hairy, fat guys?’

‘Not the terminology I would use.’

‘Speaking as a hairy fat guy, I can live with it.’

Kent shook his head. ‘Too short.’

‘Who the fuck are you calling short?’

Another shrug. ‘I prefer taller.’

‘Not very dark either.’

‘True.’

Ben took a breath. He bent his head and pressed his lips to the back of Kent’s neck.

‘Stop.’

Ben stroked his hand down and around, catching Kent’s arm. Trying to take his hand.

Kent pulled his hand away.

‘What? What’s the matter?’

‘I knew this would happen,’ Kent muttered.

‘What? Nothing is happening.’

Kent rolled over to face Ben. ‘Stop touching me.’

‘I’m not touching you.’

‘Don’t touch me now or in the future. I’m not here to help you work out your “issues.” I have my own problems.’

‘No fucking kidding.’

‘Meaning?’ Kent asked.

‘Look at yourself. You’re a good-looking guy. You’ve got a good job. Qualifications. Reputation. All that shit. So how come you’re the loneliest asshole I’ve ever met?’

The silence stretched out for several seconds. ‘I’m not lonely,’ Kent said.

‘Calling your mom once a week doesn’t count.’

‘Being unmarried isn’t some kind of illness.’

‘You’re not even _dating._ You freak out when anyone touches you –’

‘I do not.’

Ben shook his head. ‘I saw Meyer’s kid grab you when she fell out of the damn raft, and when Meyer’s body man tripped up. You’re fucking terrified of letting anyone get close to you, physically or otherwise. That’s not just miserable and depressing, it’s unhealthy.’

‘So, you’re touching me up for my benefit? Good to know.’

‘Hey, I didn’t do anything.’

Kent turned on the lamp. He was frowning as he scanned Ben’s face. ‘The depths of your self-deception are astonishing. Terrifying, but astonishing. I suppose next you’ll tell me that all you want is to be my friend.’

‘Too fucking right.’

Kent shook his head. ‘Do you imagine yourself subtle? You’re not. From the moment we met you have made one embarrassingly obvious advance after another.’

‘That’s bullshit and you know it.’

‘I’m sorry that your sexuality is evidently such a difficult matter for you,’ Kent said. ‘However I’m not here for you to practice on until you decide if you’re bi or gay. I’m not a gateway. I’m a person, one who would appreciate it if you would cease and desist the inappropriate touching, the undressing with your eyes, and the painfully clumsy flirtations.’   

***

He didn’t know if there was a sound or maybe it was the moonlight thrusting through the curtains, but Ben woke up, and knew someone was looking at him.

There was a shadowed form at the end of the bed. Unmoving. Silent.

‘What the fuck’re you doing?’ Ben growled. ‘You trying to give me a heart attack?’

No answer. Ben fumbled for the bedside lamp, angrier than nervous, and growing angrier by the minute.

Kent. He didn’t react to the light, or anything else. His expression was empty. Ben had seen him look blank, this was something else. Like someone had flipped off the switch marked “consciousness.”

Ben snapped his fingers a couple of times. ‘Kent? Hey, you in there?’

He realised that he could see the fine trail of hair leading down from Kent’s navel. That had been covered before by his pyjama pants. Ben looked over the side of the bed: Kent’s pyjama pants were in a pile on the floor.

‘Jesus, are you asleep?’ He didn’t expect an answer. He didn’t get one.

 ‘You are the last person I’d expect to sleepwalk.’ Ben drummed his fingers on the mattress. ‘You can’t stay there. You’re giving me the creeps.’

Ben dragged himself out of bed approached the other man curiously. ‘If I wake you up, are you gonna freak?’

‘Ben, liar, liar. Ben,’ Kent said, in a clear, low tone.

‘Hey, if you’re gonna call me names I’m gonna lock you in the shower and make you sleep in there.’

Kent’s skin was pale in the weak lamplight. As Ben manoeuvred him towards the bed, he tried not to stare.

‘Been a while since you skipped leg day, huh?’ Ben asked.

‘Stop. Don’t touch.’

‘Geez, put on your pants if you’re gonna be such a prig.’ Ben scooped them up and pushed them into Kent’s hands.

Kent looked at them blankly, before pulling them on.

‘C’mon,’ Ben said, tentatively touching his shoulder. ‘Back in bed.’

Kent trundled forward as if on wheels. He walked around the bed, climbed in, and lay on his back.

Ben smoothed the covers over them. Kent was staring up at the ceiling.

‘Close your eyes, you big dummy.’

Instead, he turned to face Ben. His eyes were completely clear. His expression was utterly empty.

‘You keep looking at me that and I’m gonna… I’m gonna turn out the light, go to sleep, and kick myself all the way to China.’ Ben frowned. ‘Close your eyes, Christ!’

Fucking ridiculous. There was no reason for it to bother him so much. But it did.

 

Day Twenty-Eight

‘Get it together, Benny.’

‘Huh?’ Ben asked.

Stuart Hughes pushed his cereal around his bowl. ‘You’ve been spaced out.’

‘I didn’t sleep so great.’

‘Oh, God.’

‘What?’ Ben asked. ‘Kent sleepwalks. It’s fucking creepy. He looked like the fucking elf on the shelf.’

Hughes frowned as he took a gulp of coffee. ‘You sure?’

‘I had a pretty good view.’

Across the room, Kent walked in, looked around, and sat down with Meyer’s chief of staff.

‘What did you do?’ Hughes asked.

‘I told him to get back in bed and quit being fucking creepy.’

‘Ben!’

‘What!’

Hughes lowered his voice. ‘Why is he avoiding you to the extent that he would rather sit with Meyer’s neurotic tween than anywhere near you?’

Ben heaved himself around to look over his shoulder at Kent. ‘Because he’s a fucking baby.’

***

‘I need you to talk to Hughes,’ Ben muttered, as they watched Meyer and her ex-husband flail desperately when asked to pretend they liked each other.

‘You’re normally doing everything you can to prevent me,’ Kent said.

Ben looked up at him. He was totally calm and collected. You’d never suspect he’d been wandering round naked and totally spaced.

‘Hughes thinks that you’re avoiding me,’ Ben said.

‘Observant.’

‘So tell him that you’re not.’

Kent looked at him. So far as he displayed any emotion, he seemed genuinely confused. ‘But I am.’

Ben scowled. ‘Then you’re doing a shitty job.’

‘Nonetheless.’

‘I’m fucking serious.’

‘As am I,’ Kent said. ‘If there was a way of avoiding you without raising comment then I would take it.’

Ben rolled his eyes. ‘So quit.’

‘Without raising comment?’

‘Christ, grow the fuck up. You don’t have to be embarrassed. Way worse happens on campaign. It’s not like you did it to Meyer or something.’

Kent swivelled to face him. ‘To what are you referring?’

Ben tucked his hands into his pockets. ‘You sleepwalking. Buck naked.’

If Ben had to take a guess he’d have thought Kent wasn’t capable of blushing, blanching, or anything else. But the colour sure drained from his face.

‘What?’ he stuttered.

‘I found you stood at the foot of the bed, naked, just kinda staring.’

Kent crossed his arms as he turned away. ‘I was dressed when I woke up.’

Ben snorted. ‘You’re a hell of a lot more agreeable when you’re sleepwalking. Like a good little clockwork boy. I said put your pants on and go to bed and you did. Do you do that often?’

‘I’m hardly in a position to tell,’ Kent said shortly.

‘You don’t remember?’

‘No.’

Ben cracked a smile. ‘Shoulda had my wicked way with you.’

Kent’s lip curled in disgust. ‘In what possible world is rape an appropriate topic for humour?’

‘Rape? C’mon, you might’ve been into it.’

Kent gave a little shudder and drew himself up. ‘A sleeping person, ambulatory or not, cannot give informed consent.’

‘It was just a fucking joke. Why’re you so uptight about getting a little action?’

Kent glared at him. ‘I’m going back to the hotel. The company is nauseating.’

 

Day Forty-Four

Meyer was kinda fun when she was excited. Bouncing around, hugging people, giving shoulder squeezes. Ben was happy to get his share. She didn’t do anything for him, way too aggressive, but he wasn’t going to say no to a cuddle.

Kent had stepped away somewhere. Ben picked up a bottle whiskey and a couple of glasses and went after him.

Ben’s shoes clattered on the cheap, shiny floor tiles. Fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed overhead. The business centre was almost empty at this time of night. The only sound of human occupation was the rustle of papers in the far corner.

‘What the fuck are you doing in here?’ Ben asked, avoiding the paperwork spilling across the desk and floor.

‘Working.’

‘It’s Meyer’s kid’s birthday. Everyone is celebrating.’

Kent didn’t look up from his paperwork. ‘Meyer despises me.’

‘That’s no reason not to drink her booze.’ Ben sat down. ‘Maybe she’ll warm up to you if you’re both drunk.’

‘Doubtful.’

Ben sprawled on a chair. ‘Let off some fucking steam wouldja? You’re wound so tight I’m afraid you’re gonna pop.’

He was afraid to see the other man relax suddenly. No. Not relax. Sag. As if the air had been let out.

‘I have to get these done,’ Kent said quietly.

‘Lemme help. Watcha doing, statistical analysis?’ Ben poured two drinks. ‘You gotta kick back once in a while, okay? Working round the clock is expected, sure, so is abandoning any kind of social life. But every so often we have to cut loose. Meyer’s kid’s birthday is as good an excuse as any.’

Kent squeezed the bridge of his nose. ‘Is it always like this?’

‘Christ no.’ Ben smiled sardonically. ‘Sometimes it’s stressful.’

That earned a small smile even if it was a bit unwilling. Ben was surprised to see that it was a nice smile that gave some warmth to Kent’s features.

‘There you go, you chilled out a bit and the world didn’t end.’

‘Hmm, yet.’

They worked for a few more minutes in silence. Ben tried not to look across at Kent’s slim thighs or the bulge between them. He’d done his best not to look when Kent was sleepwalking but he was only human. He wasn’t sure if the dim lighting in the room had been overly generous, but it sure didn’t look that way.

‘You never want kids?’ Ben asked.

‘I did,’ Kent said. ‘Didn’t happen.’

‘You fucking kidding?’

Kent blinked. ‘No. I don’t particularly like children but people usually care for their own. I have no reason to believe I would be different.’

‘Fuck.’ Ben shook his head. ‘You’re literally the last person I’d expect to want kids.’

Kent drew his brows together. ‘You don’t know me well enough to make that judgment.’

‘Okay, you ask me stuff. I’ll ask you stuff. Get to know each other.’

Kent didn’t roll his eyes but it seemed he might. ‘If we must.’

Ben clapped his hands together. ‘You first.’

Kent sighed as he flicked though his printouts. ‘Why do you persist in asking me personal or leading questions?’

‘Is that your question?’

‘Evidently.’

Ben turned over a report. ‘I’m bored,’ he said in what he hoped was a charmingly disarming way. ‘And I wanna know. I think you might be interesting.’

Kent snorted. ‘I see the level of “honestly” to which I should aspire.’

‘What? Is that you refusing to let me have my turn?’

Kent shrugged in acquiescence.

‘When did you know you were swung both ways?’

‘Hmm.’ Kent looked thoughtful. ‘When did I know or when did I come to terms with it?’

‘There’s a difference?’

‘Huge.’

Ben loosened his tie. ‘When did you know?’

‘I believe I was twenty-three.’

‘What the fuck took so long?’

Kent gave him a crooked smile. ‘You think it took a long time? _You_ think so. Well, there is a certain stigma. A large number of people assumed that I was gay and in denial. I was young and people I respected were consistently telling me that I was gay rather than bisexual. It led me to doubt myself.’

‘You? That’s hard to believe.’

‘It was thirty years ago,’ Kent said. ‘I was very young, inexperienced, and uncertain.’ He looked down at his hands. ‘In some ways, young people have it easier.’

Ben didn’t know why Kent gave him a look of mingled confusion and irritation. Then he looked down. His hand was resting on Kent’s knee.

‘Some ways?’ Ben reluctantly removed his hand. ‘Those millennial motherfuckers don’t know that they’re born.’

‘Every mature generation slanders the youngest one. Buying into it makes you sound old.’

‘I feel old. Whose turn is it?’

Kent rubbed his eyebrow. ‘Mine. Do you love your wife?’

‘What the _fuck_?’ Ben was on his feet, his hands balling into fists.

‘You just had your hand on my knee.’

‘You were… I was being supportive!’

Kent sat back. ‘I see. And the other night when you stroked and kissed my back?’

Ben’s face darkened. ‘I did no such thing.’

‘Amazing,’ Kent said, shaking his head.

‘What?’

‘If you don’t know then my telling you won’t help.’

There was a long moment when Ben waited for something else, some other reaction, but nothing was forthcoming. Eventually he crashed back down into his seat and downed his drink.

‘Aren’t you storming out?’ Kent asked tartly.

‘Shut the fuck up.’ Ben poured another drink. ‘I suppose so. It’s different when you’re older. When you’ve been around the block a few times. You have lower expectations.’

Kent looked at him blankly.

‘Your question about loving my wife, you jackass. I love her, I guess. In a way. We don’t see each other much and when we do we have nothing to say.’

‘Ah.’

Ben spread out his hands. ‘We kinda… bounced into getting married. I met her when I still married to Jennifer. God, that was a shitshow. Jennifer was fucking nuts.’

Kent raised an eyebrow. ‘Just how many times have you been married?’

‘Four times. Well, I guess five. Two of them were Bethany. She’s a lesbian now.’

‘I suspect the “ _now_ ” is not the correct term. Some people can find it difficult to come to terms,’ Kent said carefully. ‘It can take people years. Decades even.’

Ben sat back. ‘My turn.’

‘You don’t want to continue this nonsense.’

‘Sure I do. We’re getting to know each other.’

Kent sighed. ‘If it makes you happy.’

Ben rolled his glass between his palms. ‘When was your last serious relationship?’

‘Define serious.’

‘You define it, that’s the fucking point.’

Kent chewed his lower lip. His lips weren’t overly full or unpleasantly thin and the lower one was a gentle curve that invited further attention.

‘If we’re counting from the end then eight years,’ he said.

‘Who was that with?’

‘Sam Clearmont, a Political Sciences lecturer.’

Ben cross his leg, hoisting his right ankle up onto his left knee. ‘Samuel or Samantha?’

Kent narrowed his eyes. ‘How is that important?’

Ben snorted. ‘You’re not telling me that dating a guy is the same as dating a woman.’

Kent tilted his head. ‘Are you claiming that dating your wife was the same as dating your ex-wives?’

‘Just fucking tell me!’

‘Sam,’ Kent said. ‘Just that. Not Samuel.’

Ben stiffened a little. ‘Was he bi too?’

‘Yes.’ He held up his hand. ‘Enough. I’m going upstairs.’

‘I thought you were hot to get this done.’

‘I am,’ Kent said. ‘And now you’ve gotten distracted it isn’t getting done.’

 

Day Fifty

The tug-of-war was all Hughes’ idea, but somehow he ended up rushing back for some freaking family emergency. Ben was hoping the whole thing would be cancelled but no such luck. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Not even Ben flying the flag of his heart condition was enough.

Ben hobbled from the field clutching his left arm. He must’ve taken a knock to the head as well. He felt fuzzy. Trying to take off his t-shirt made lights pop in front of his eyes. He crashed down onto one of the benches in the locker room while the other men came and went.

‘Are you okay?’ asked a pale blur that sounded like Meyer’s press guy.

‘Yeah, yeah, I just… I just need a sit down.’

‘You _are_ sat down.’

‘Then I just want you out of my face.’

He was still sat there when there was only one shower still in use and the locker room was empty. He heard the shower switched off and then someone come padding into the locker room.

‘Are you having a heart attack?’ Kent asked. He actually sounded concerned as he walked across to Ben. He was soaking wet: water streaming down his body and clinging to his hair and beard. He was naked apart from a skimpy towel doing service as a loin cloth.

If Ben wasn’t having a heart attack that outfit might do it.

‘No, I’m sitting here for my fucking health.’

‘Let me see you arm.’

Ben howled in pain at his touch, and took a swing with his other fist. Didn’t connect.

‘We need to get you to the ER.’ Kent looked pissed. ‘I’ll have someone drive you.’

‘No ambulance?’

Kent shook his head. ‘Not for a broken arm.’

‘Are you fucking sure?’

‘Unless you’ve taken up extreme yoga,’ Kent said. ‘Your arm should not bend that way. You must have fallen badly. It looks painful.’

‘Fucking agony,’ Ben growled. ‘Can’t you take me? I don’t want any of these assholes watching if I shit myself.’

Kent hung his head. ‘Of course. Let me dress.’

***

They went in a cab. The driver grumbled and complained about the smell of mud until Kent gave him twenty dollars and a sharp enjoinder about compassion.

Ben eyed his co-worker warily. Kent was crushed against the opposite door, his shoulders and back tensed, and his hands clenched on his knees.

‘This isn’t gonna be a problem,’ Ben said. ‘They’ll patch me up and I’ll get back to work.’

‘Assuming it’s a simple break that doesn’t require surgery.’

‘Jesus, way to look on the bright side,’ Ben muttered, shifting uncomfortably.

Kent crossed his arms. ‘Neither optimism nor pessimism are useful.’

‘What the fuck’s wrong with you? All the way here you’ve been squirming like a minister outside a brothel.’

‘When we fell I pulled my back,’ Kent said. ‘It’s nothing of consequence.’

‘How?’ Ben asked.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘It’ll take my mind off the nauseating pain.’

Kent winced. ‘I was stood behind Senator Meyer. I twisted to avoid falling on her. She’s very –’

‘Aggressive? Loud? Filled with an irrational hatred of you?’

‘Diminutive,’ Kent said. ‘I was concerned that I might injure her.’

Ben shuddered. ‘You’d have squashed her like a bug. Splat.’

Kent’s lips twisted into a moue. ‘That would’ve been unfortunate.’

‘No shit. Where would we get another running mate now?’

Kent made a noise Ben thought was a muffled laugh.

‘Or another chief of staff,’ Kent said.

‘Don’t be such a fucking drama queen. They’ll slap on some plaster and it’ll be fine Didn’t you ever break a bone?’

Kent narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. ‘No.’

‘Never? You’ve never broken a bone? How the fuck did you manage that?’

‘Not being reckless.’

‘I was doing the same thing you were!’

Kent raised an eyebrow. ‘Evidently not, since I’m not the one with a broken arm.’

***

Lights flashed in front of Ben’s eyes as his arm was realigned. He didn’t make any sound, unlike Kent who groaned audibly.

‘What the fuck is your problem?’ Ben growled.

‘You are crushing my forearm.’

Ben opened one eye and looked over. Kent’s skin was blanching where Ben’s fingers were digging in.

‘What the fuck is your arm doing there?’ Ben demanded, yanking his hand back.

‘Being used as a stress ball,’ Kent said, rubbing his arm.

‘We done?’ Ben asked the nurse.

‘You’re all good.’

Ben checked his watch. ‘We shouldn’t delay everyone too much if we can get back to the hotel with the hour.’ He registered the expression of Kent’s face. ‘No. No, you’re not gonna tell me that they left already.’

‘They flew while you were being x-rayed.’

Ben shuffled towards the edge of the bed. ‘Don’t just stand there, help me down.’

‘There are no direct flights until eight in the morning,’ Kent said. ‘However there’s a connecting flight from O’Hare at two.’

‘Two?’ Ben asked. ‘In the _morning_? Are you fucking insane?’

Kent looked up to the ceiling. ‘Merely offering all the alternatives.’

‘Yeah, that’s your thing isn’t it, keeping your options open.’

***

They found a hotel near the airport. The fluorescent lights were somehow both flickering and too bright. The threadbare navy-coloured carpet crackled with static. The glaze-eyed, monotone receptionist with a suspiciously runny nose pushed the key cards across the desk.

‘Third floor,’ she said.

‘Any clue on the room numbers or should we just randomly try doors until we get lucky or someone punches us?’ Ben asked.

‘They’re written on the side of the cards,’ Kent murmured.

‘What he said.’

Ben grabbed his card, flinched in pain at the movement, and stamped towards the elevator. His mood wasn’t improved by Kent easily outpacing him.

‘Wait up, some of us are supposed to be taking it easy y’know. I’m suffering.’

Kent thumbed the call button. ‘So is everyone with a functional nose.’

‘What?’

‘We have no clean clothing,’ Kent said ‘and you are redolent of mud and sweat.’

‘Shut the fuck up,’ Ben grumbled. He leant against the wall of the elevator and briefly closed his eyes. His arm throbbed. His chest creaked with every breath.

The elevator pinged and the doors slid open.

‘Ben, can you walk?’

He forced his eyes open. The sympathy was as appalling as it was unexpected. ‘I just need a shower and a nap.’

He didn’t look at Kent but shoved past and stumbled along the corridor. He could feel Kent watching as he fumbled the key card into the slot. Fuck him. That asshole could jump out of a fucking window.

Ben kicked the door shut behind him, staggered over to the bed, and collapsed onto it.

***

Kent had loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons. There was a triangle of flesh just showing. Ben struggled not to stare at it.

‘What?’

Ben gestured at his arm. ‘Having trouble getting changed.’

Kent bit his lower lip. ‘Okay. I’ll help. But that’s it.’

‘Don’t get your hopes up,’ Ben growled. ‘That’s all I’m asking for.’

He stamped back to his room with Kent following him. Inside, he slumped down onto his bed. Kent put his hands on his hips and looked at Ben thoughtfully.

‘How do you wish to do this?’

‘As painlessly as possible.’

Kent’s eyebrow quirked. ‘That might be problematic.’

Ben cradled his arm. ‘I’m not kidding around,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve had a shitty day, my arm hurts like hell, and I can’t take off what remains of my shirt.’

‘Right.’ Kent sat down on the bed and frowned as he tried to work out the logistics. ‘This would be easier if we simply cut it off.’

‘You’re not cutting off my arm.’

Kent rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll fetch some scissors.’

‘Great, I’ll sit on the plane shirtless. Yeah, that’ll work.’

‘You can’t wear this in any event,’ Kent said. ‘Mud and sweat are not desirable perfumes.’ He rubbed his moustache. ‘I’ll call the desk. There must be somewhere we can find out something else to wear.’

‘Sure, fine, whatever.’ Ben hadn’t realised just how shitty he must look until Kent patted his leg.

‘I’ll get scissors.’

***

Kent had the very tip of his tongue stuck out as he concentrated. He had trimmed as much cloth as he could, but found that large sections were stuck to Ben’s skin with mud. Brushing it away hadn’t worked. Now Kent was moistening them with a wet sponge.

Ben groaned as Kent peeled away a strip of material and then moved on to another strip.

‘So when you ask some guy to get undressed, how often does it involve a wet sponge?’

‘That’s usually after,’ Kent said. 

‘Oh, yeah?’ 

Kent didn’t look at him. ‘A shower is nice.’

‘Don’t you get all slippery and fall over?’

‘Do you?’

Ben could see the curve of Kent’s lower lip. ‘You’re the one having sex in the shower. I can’t remember the last time I had got the little guy out and you’re running around screwing in showers.’

Kent gave him a look. ‘I said a shower. Not sex in a shower.’

He was close enough that Ben could smell him. A little musky, nothing Ben would kick anyone out for.

Kent’s tongue had returned to his upper lip. There was something fascinating about it. Magnetic almost.

‘Huh?’ Ben muttered.

Kent tensed and shook his head.

‘What?’ Ben asked.

Kent looked at him. ‘Really?’

‘What?’

Kent sighed. ‘Are you honestly going to say it?’

Ben shrugged and winced at the pain in his arm. ‘You’re gonna have to, because I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.’

Kent looked him in the eye. ‘You have an erection.’

‘You gotta be kidding. Not every guy you meet is into you.’

‘I am merely reporting a physical fact,’ Kent said dryly. ‘I’m not offering a conjecture as to the cause.’

Ben shifted position. ‘It’s got nothing to do with you.’

‘Sure. It’s has nothing to do with all the talk of showering and sex, and sex while showering.’ Kent removed the last strip of shirt.

Ben groaned softly and squeezed his eyes shut.

‘If I assist you with it,’ Kent said quietly, ‘will you at least _attempt_ to cease lying to my face about it?’

Ben dragged his gaze from Kent’s mouth. ‘Scout’s honour.’

***

It didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t really sex. Handjobs didn’t count. Everyone knew that. It was… help. Like getting off his shirt. Like helping him dress. It wasn’t sex. It didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t sex if it was a handjob and it wasn’t sex if only one of you came. He hadn’t even _touched_ Kent. Ben had reached for him, but had been brushed aside.

That rankled. The brisk efficiency of his ‘help’ rankled. Kent hadn’t even said goodbye before he went off to source something for them to wear the next day.

It was fucking rude. That’s what it was.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
